


Mistakes Like This

by livlliss, OkamiShadou98



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, All Human, Alternate Universe, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Lawyers, Past Child Abuse, Tags to be added, family trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livlliss/pseuds/livlliss, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkamiShadou98/pseuds/OkamiShadou98
Summary: Lucifer Morningstar, a premiere lawyer and club owner in Los Angeles, has spent five years building a career out of defending criminals in court. He enjoys the work, even with his stepmother and brother hanging over his shoulder, watching his every move.Chloe Decker, a homicide detective, has spent ten years in a marriage that has now fallen apart spectacularly. With the corruption of the LAPD stifling her - and some hotshot lawyer always getting the people she arrests out of serving time - she’s slowly falling apart.But when a trial brings the two together by chance, what starts as hatred slowly morphs into something new.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	Mistakes Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Okami - This is my first time co-writing with someone and it's turning to be just an amazing experience. I hope you enjoy this little ball of angst and fun we thought up.
> 
> Liv - This is the co-creator of this fic, I really hope you enjoy this one because it was so much fun planning this out with another talented writer. We have a lot of things planned and we hope you enjoy it.

Antique cars are nothing new in Los Angeles - the ordinary crowd of Hondas and Toyotas interspersed regularly with custom builds and boxed noses beasts. But the sight of a black Corvette convertible reeling down the highway, weaving between lanes with little concern for other drivers as it leaves broad strips of dark rubber on the asphalt, is unexpected even for long time residents of the city. Sounds of engines running and the vibrations of the cars fill the city air, honking at the speeding driver on the highway. 

Rather than show remorse, the driver waves languidly at those flipping him off and yelling obscenities, steering his vehicle with a single hand resting atop the wheel. The sunglasses perching on his nose hide his eyes, but there is no mistaking his grin, full of perfectly white, straight teeth. His hair flows with the wind, being unleashed from its perfect gelled state but not having a single care in the world. The radio from the vehicle blasts with classic rock tunes and the bass is thumping along the road, giving other drivers a vibration in their seats. 

The agility of the Corvette means the vehicle quickly outstrips those that dare to ride alongside it, the sleek exterior gleaming as if newly waxed. And, in fact, it is. Because despite what his driving style may imply, Lucifer Morningstar is a man who takes exemplary care of his possessions. But he is also a man who appreciates the dangers of life, and even as a light before him turns red, he guns the engine and skates through the intersection with mere feet to spare.

The sheer recklessness of such a maneuver implies the sort of attitude carried by adrenaline junkies and stock car racers alike. Certainly, it bears no resemblance to the temperaments of men who spend their days idling in offices, least of all lawyers. Which is precisely his vocation. An impeccable lawyer by day and a devilish sinner by night, Lucifer Morningstar is the definition of magnificence in all senses of the word - or so he’d say, loudly, if ever asked.

Yet, it’s a difficult point to argue when his name is stamped in elegant gold letters on the exterior of one of Los Angeles’ most renowned law firms. Richards and Morningstar, Attorneys at Law, commands respect in a way few buildings could. The sense of judgmental prowess oozes from the concrete structure, leaks from between the wide banks of glittering windows. The sun shines upon the building as to give a sense of aspiration to those who are in dire need of help. And help it did indeed provide. To criminals.

Richards and Morningstar could get anyone out of charges of homicide, embezzlement, and any of the other inconveniences that plague the upper one percent of the city. Politicians crawl to them on their knees. Celebrities bow and simper. Even the drug lords - a dying breed they may be - are always sending them bottles of expensive wine for Christmas. A mere mention of the firm sends chills down the spines of the workers of the DA’s office, a sense of loss before the court even decides on a hearing, and the detectives of the LAPD loath the pride and history they possess. They were the sharks of the judicial system and prove so to those who think they have a shot of shutting them down.  
Lucifer, however, is less than impressed. He owns buildings that are both larger and more extravagant than the practice. And as for the name and the fear it inspires, he could care less.

He slows as he pulls into the back parking lot, cunningly hidden by the shape of the building. Parking alongside the cherry red Tesla belonging to his partner, he climbs out and runs a hand through his newly mussed hair in a lazy attempt to restore order to the curls that had sprung free during the drive. Dressed in a classic black and white suit, he hurriedly strolls to the front of the building, as he was late. The glass doors reflect back his physique as he walks closer and pulls on the gold bars to open up to the building. The waiting area was drastically large and full of beautiful white and black sofas and chairs. Some are paired with glass tables that are decorated with various magazines and plants. A front desk is placed towards the northeast side of the room that also had the firm’s name imprinted on the black marble with white lettering. There is a hallway on the left of the desk that leads to various offices and meeting areas in the building. 

It is late enough for more than a few people to be walking about, traversing the hall as they hop from office to office, laden with files. The paralegals have been here for hours already, despite it being hardly eleven, most with dead eyed looks. This separates them from the associates, who at least look awake.

As Lucifer strides down the hall, people pause to offer greetings. He acknowledges only a few, those he had personally hired. The individuals who had been brought in by Charlotte Richards are, by and large, completely ignored by him. Not that they are deterred by his cold shoulder. Most follow after him like puppies nipping at his heels, asking if he needs things or trying to relay unnecessary information. It wasn’t until he reaches the elevator to take him to the upper offices that he is able to shake them off. As he enters the enclosed space and presses the elevator button, he breathes a sigh of relief as the elevator lifts him up and hoping - more or less - his partner is already out and about either getting an early lunch or defending a criminal. She was one of the few people that gave him a hard time when he showed up late. 

He reached for his phone in his pocket to check the time and it was about 10:55. He taps his foot anxiously against the floor of the elevator and the sound echoes within the space. He looks up from his phone towards the buttons that light up everytime the floor changes level and his heart rate starts to increase as he gets closer and closer to the top level of the building. 

The metal doors open with a ding as he is faced with an empty hallway with less offices. He walks forward a few feet and is abruptly bombarded with Maze running into him. 

“Watch it, this suit is new,” he says, still steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.

Maze only glowers, thrusting a stack of files into his hands. “Will you stop leaving your work on my desk? You’re the one who’s supposed to do it.”

“Ah, but you forge my signature so beautifully. It seems a shame to waste such a talent.” He glances through the files but nearly all of them are paperwork for already completed cases. “Any calls for me?”

She snorts. “Only three dozen. Why the fuck can’t you come in on time like everyone else?”

“Language,” he admonishes, without real infliction behind the word. “I was entertaining a few people until early this morning. No matter how I asked, they simply wouldn’t leave.”

Which was true. He had asked his bedmates to abscond after his alarm had woken them all up after a truly extraordinary night of drugs and sex. But then someone had dragged out a bottle of tequila from under the bed and everyone had inevitably ended up naked again. Not that he was complaining. The after party was one of the best things about owning a nightclub.

“Well I don’t care, it left me doing your paperwork. By the way, someone has been waiting for you for over an hour already.” Lucifer glares at Maze as she proceeds to walk to his office without any further context. 

He follows right behind her to his office which was on the other end of the hallway. The walls beside him held paintings and other trinkets that were the most appealing to the human eye. A visitor may think they’re replicas but each and every one was an original from the family vault, meticulously carried through the generations and cared for. Lucifer hated the bloody things.

Maze’s black heels click against the marble floor and soon slow down from the steady rhythm as they approach his office. The door is a black mahogany wood and topped with a gold door handle. The nameplate on the door read as: ‘Lucifer Morningstar Defense Attorney’. 

Lucifer is just turning the handle when a sharp voice behind him calls his name. He winces at the same time Maze melts away from his side, slinking back to her desk and away from whatever is about to go down. 

Adjusting his cufflinks as he turns, Lucifer eyes the poised blonde haired woman dressed in an elegance pant suit. “Good morning, step-mummy,” he says lightly.

She scowls. “Don’t call me that at work. And morning was about three hours ago. Where have you been? You missed two meetings!”

“Oh, you know,” he waves his hand vaguely. “Around.”

She steps forward, sniffing. “Are you drunk?” she demands.

“Closer to sober.” He taps the sunglasses he still hasn’t taken off. The bright fluorescent lights are simply murder after an evening, night, and morning of drinking.

“Can’t you at least pretend to be professional?” Charlotte snaps.

“I showed up, didn’t I?” The humor drains from his voice. “Besides, it seems you had everything handled.”

“Don’t take the tone with me!”

“Or what?” His lip curls. “Going to run back to my dad and tell him I’m being a naughty boy?”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” she threatens, her long nails looking positively lethal as they tap against her elbow. “And what do you think will happen after? Amenadiel’s up in Seattle, looking in on Gabriel. He could be here this evening if I asked it of him.”

Lucifer’s expression tightens at the mention of his eldest brother.

“Alright alright.” He holds his hands up in defense. “No need to bring my brother into this.” Lucifer backs up from her just a step to put some distance in between them.

“Now that’s a good boy.” Charlotte smiles in victory at his offended expression but lets the conversation die.

Lucifer almost forgot why he was there in the first place but his memory came back as quick as it disappeared. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have a client to speak with..” 

“Yes, you do.” And with that, Charlotte storms back to her own office, pausing only to snap a few words at her slumping secretary. 

Lucifer watches the exchange for a moment, wondering what the hell his father sees in this demonic woman. He’s never known someone who spreads misery quite like Charlotte. Then again, she is here and not back at the main office in New York City with his dad. Lucifer didn’t much concern himself with his family’s affairs, but it was almost laughable how he was reprimanded constantly for his womanizing ways when his father seemed to be nearing the demise of marriage number three. At least his dad hadn’t knocked up this one - Lucifer was tired of all the siblings.

Straightening his jacket, he opens the door to his office and steps into the large expanse. Immediately, he winces. Someone had opened all of the curtains, allowing light to flood from the wall of windows behind his desk. Squinting, he doesn’t immediately notice the woman sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs used by clients. Instead, he stumbles to the glass table containing a few bottles of expensive spirits, choosing one at random and pouring himself a tumbler full. Charlotte had been trying to ban alcohol from his office for years now, but he got away with it by claiming clients expected gin or brandy.

Only when he’s drained the glass and poured himself another, does he turn and find a thin woman staring at him from the chair.

“Oh, right. Maze said someone was here. You’re…” he casts around for a name, but Maze - probably on purpose - neglected to provide him with one. “Darling,” he settles on. “What can I do for you?” He moves to his desk and takes a seat in his chair, the leather squeaking under him as it adjusts to his frame.

“I heard you are the finest lawyers in the city. I hope you could help me with my situation.” 

Lucifer seems unmoved, but gestures at her with a slight nod for her to keep going.

“My name is Vanessa. Vanessa Dunlear and-” 

Lucifer immediately interrupts her. “As in.. Tim Dunlear’s wife? Bloody hell, I never thought I’d see the day. It’s lovely to meet you but it seems we have more pressing matters, why are you here?” Just the mention of her name brings his full attention to her problem.

“My husband runs the Tim Dunlear foundation which helps orphaned kids in other countries get money for education. Ever since he retired from the NBA, he devoted his life to that foundation.” She clears her throat and continues on. “He was one of those who had a bad history within the NBA so he decided to change his life around. 

“Recently, my husband was murdered and I’m being accused of money embezzlement and as well a first degree murder charge. I know the foundation’s lawyer we had set up didn’t have the power to keep this out of the press until I found this firm and its history of helping people like me.” 

Lucifer sits back into his chair and is quiet for a few moments. He knows all of these famous clients coming into this firm are guilty right from the start. He has defended countless people like her but no one could keep this out of the press except for him. And on those occasions where he couldn’t cut a deal and trials were inevitable, no one could play the media quite like him either. Doubt is a double layered affair. Convincing a jury is one thing, but the opinion that matters even more is the public. That’s why they all came to him in the end, seeking a way to salvage their newly torn reputations and rapidly depleting stocks.

“I’m curious, why did you do it?” he asks.

She stiffens in her chair. “I beg your pardon?”

He shrugs, rising from his chair to sit on the corner of his desk, so close his dress shoes nearly brush her legs. “Mrs. Dunlear - or, I suppose, it’s Ms. now - I’m not here to stroke your ego. We both know you’re guilty. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. And as such, I need to know everything pertaining to the crime.”

“I cannot simply admit my guilt like that! Are you insane?”

“No, insane is Mrs. Richards. She’s right next door, if that’s what you prefer. But even if you storm out of here and see her instead, she’ll ask you the same. So, in the interest of time, let’s keep this succinct. Why did you murder your husband?”

She tries to act innocent but she knew he was going to crack her one way or another. She drops the act, “Tim knew I was embezzling money from the foundation. Yes, I want those kids to get their education that they deserve but my life became miserable after he left the NBA.

“Money wasn’t coming in as much as it used to and all the money he had from his career was put towards the making of the foundation and all I wanted was him to put me first.” She slumps into her chair, defeated by her confession. 

“There’s no shame in it,” he says gently, ducking his head slightly. “We, as a species, do terrible things constantly. Tell me, do you regret more that you killed him or that you were caught?” At her aghast look, he chuckles. “I happen to know about his affair. You poor woman, humiliated twice, your future squandered by the man who had hurt you. I can hardly fault you for lashing out.”

“He betrayed me!” she says. “After everything we went through. I could have left a dozen times but I stayed. I fought. And what did Tim do? He left me to rot.”

He sympathized with her, don’t know if he’s also insane but some criminals’ stories tend to leave an emotional footprint in the four walls of this room. He knows murder is wrong but understanding it from a different perspective gives a whole new light to the situation. And it’s not like he’s any better. If someone handed him a gun and his father tied up, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the bastard. And he’d feel fucking good doing it.

He clears his throat and stands back up from his position on his desk. He walks towards one of his shelves that have black binders labelled with different papers inside. He searches for one in particular and grabs it from the shelf. He opens it and licks his finger to turn the page as he walks back to his chair. He could feel her eyes on him which, not to inflate his sense of pride, he knows he’s a good looking man and maybe something will surprise them after this meeting.

Lucifer sits down back in his leather chair and sets the binder atop his desk, he unclips it and grabs a few papers from the binder. Once he has all the pages he needs, he sets them aside on his desk and clips the binder back together and goes back to the shelves to return it back to its original home. He comes back and grabs the papers and makes sure to have them neat and staples them together. Once he does, he hands the papers to Vanessa and explains what they’re for.

“These sets of documents are for an agreement that I will represent you for your case. On the next page it shows my hourly payments and other information I will provide while the case is proceeding. If you sign at the bottom on the last page, there is a client confidentiality agreement that I can not use any information you indulge me against you and as well as that our sessions with the court will be me representing and speaking for you unless you say otherwise. You can read through it if you’d like, I have time.” 

Predictably, Ms. Dunlear flips immediately to the second page, scanning his rates. Lucifer holds back a chuckle as she balks. Why do people wander into his office and act surprised he doesn’t cost the same as some low level family trial lawyer? They come for the best and there is always an accompanying price attached.

“Problem?” he asks smoothly, toying with his cufflinks.

“I - I can’t afford this. A thousand dollars an hour? I run a charity, Mr. Morningstar, and Tim left me with virtually nothing.”

“It’s quite a conundrum.” He flicks an invisible speck of lint from his pristine jacket. “We do offer payment plans. They’re flexible enough, though there’s interest.”

“I have nothing,” she says, teary eyed. “Not even a lawyer, now it seems!”

She goes to throw down the papers, but Lucifer stops her, sliding out from behind the desk to grasp her wrist. “I advise you to not be so hasty. There’s plenty of alternatives to be had, even if my partner would disagree.”

Maybe, a long time ago, Lucifer had been interested in being a decent lawyer. The sort who only took the occasional bribe and treated their secretary well. He hadn’t been so naive to think he could make the world a better place or whatever the hell else others proclaimed as being the incentive for practicing law. It was about money, first and foremost. For everyone. But Lucifer had also learned that some things were infinitely more valuable than mere cash.

“What about a deal?” he asks.

She looks up at him, eyes wide. He notices she hasn’t tried to yank her arm free from his grasp, though she certainly can. Instead, she seems to be prolonging the contact and he grins wolfishly, confident her looks from before weren’t simply imagined.

“What kind of deal?” There’s wariness in her voice and he really can’t blame her for it.

“I do this for you at a far lower rate - say, two hundred dollars an hour. In exchange, you owe me a favor for me to decide upon at a later date.”

“Like a deal with the devil?” 

He chuckles at her comment, “Possibly, if that’s what you prefer to see it as.” He watches her as the cogs in her brain start to turn. For some people they will take the opportunity right away and others are hesitant about it but always give in at the end…

"Alright. I think we have a deal, Mr. Morningstar." 

“Splendid. Nevermind correcting the paperwork, I’ll handle it. Now,” he caresses her pulse point, undemanding but curious. “Is that all?”

Her sharp intake of breath is as exciting as an ice cube sliding down his chest. Still, he doesn’t press. There are many things he is, titles he wears proudly, but never has he forced himself upon someone. It’s always their choice, one of the last shreds of morality he’s been able to maintain.

“I don’t-” she trails off, unsure.

With that, he withdraws his hand, sensing her reluctance. A pity, she’s a nice looking woman. Slender, but beautifully proportioned. 

“I’ll speak with you again soon,” he says by way of dismissal, rising again.

A finger wrapping around his belt stops him cold and he looks down at the woman whose eyes now hunger. He could tease her, but he doubts she’d be receptive. He reads people for a living and right now, his gut is telling him to remain silent, hard a task as that is.

“It’s been a very long time,” she admits. “And this… I don’t usually do things like this.”

He doesn’t even try to lie. This is an ordinary Monday for him. And Tuesday. And Wednesday.

“Darling,” he reaches down and cups her face, drawing her expression upwards. “What is it you desire?”

The air conditioner is whirling powerfully in the corner of the room, but Lucifer can feel a light sheen of sweat accumulating across his body. The droplets of sweat are ice as they drip down his back. 

“I want to forget him,” she whispers. “After everything he’s done to me, I just want to forget.”

He can accommodate. Reaching behind him, he presses the intercom and calls Maze.

“What?” she asks, voice tinny.

“Hold all my calls for the next half hour,” he says.

“Wait, wait! Not again! I just got the carpet steam cleaned from last time-”

He hangs up without letting Maze finish, more concerned with the pressing issue in front of him.

Half an hour may have been a low estimate, he thinks, as that first touch of skin on skin is like firecrackers, heating up the room. Looks like he’ll have to cancel his afternoon meetings.

Maybe work isn’t always so bad…


End file.
